


Once Again

by kurow



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1749188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurow/pseuds/kurow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't wait forever. He can't keep feeling disappointed forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion fic... with a twist?

The clouds had been dark and heavy in the sky since the early afternoon, and Shion was brimming with anticipation. He had always liked storms, ever since he was a young child. Big storms had a way of rolling in right when his restlessness had reached its limit, tearing it apart, scattering it on harsh winds, and washing it away so that he could start over again.

He needed that catharsis—he couldn’t deny that—but today it was something more. Shion had to handle a lot of things on his own now. Of course he could always count on the support of his mother and help from his friends, and of course he was grateful, but he never felt certain that any of them could ever truly understand. None of them had seen the things he had seen, not really. None of them could feel the constantly mounting pressure of the responsibilities that had been thrust upon him in the months since the fall of No. 6.

None of them really knew how it felt to try to keep moving a day at a time when your heart and mind were constantly somewhere far away.

Just then the winds picked up, tearing a broken twig off of a nearby tree and throwing it against the open windowpanes with a smack. Tsukiyo gave a startled cry from where he sat on Shion’s bed. Air pressure was building steadily, the clouds about to burst. It was a sign. It had to be a sign. His heart skipped a beat.

“Shion…” Karan’s voice, soothing and understanding, drifted from the doorway and into the attic room where he now slept. Shion turned away from his open window to look at her. She crossed the floor to him, cupping his hands in her own. “Please shut the window, dear. You know he’s always welcome to come in through the door.” She didn’t need to explain who she meant.

Somehow, coming back into his life through something as mundane as the front door didn’t seem like Nezumi’s style to Shion, but with the worry etched all over his mother’s face, he decided not to press the matter. “You’re right,” he conceded, pulling the window shut, but leaving it unlocked.

Karan ruffled her son’s hair, the concerned expression on her face melting away just a little bit. “It seems all of our guests have made it home safely. It was a shame sending them home so early, you know, but you and I would both worry about them in this storm.”

Shion nodded. Lightning spilt the sky, followed very quickly by a thunderclap so loud it seemed to shake the house. Karan leaned against the doorframe on her way out.

“I’m going to bed. Happy birthday, Shion.”

“Thanks, mom,” he said warmly, giving her a genuine smile. She smiled back and turned down the stairs, pulling the door shut gently behind her.

As if on cue, the rain began to pour.

Tsukiyo shifted around the room, obviously feeling agitated by something, though Shion didn't know what. All the signs were there. Everything was falling into place.

On any other day, Shion would have kept the window shut—but unlocked, always unlocked—to keep from worrying his mother more than she already worried.

But today was his seventeenth birthday, and the wind was so strong it was nearly raining sideways. And though the windows in the bakery in Lost Town were nowhere near the size of the ones that had been in their house in Chronos, Shion felt the most intense sense of déjà vu as he threw the panes of the window open again. He allowed himself the pleasure of screaming out into the night, clutching the edge of the windowsill with white knuckles, just _knowing_ that his shout would be answered with a _heh_ and a familiar silhouette appearing out of the storm before him, calling him an airhead.

He waited, but he was left only with disappointment and a cough that lingered on for a few weeks, brought on by standing soaking wet all night in front of a window left open to the chill of early autumn air.

 

* * *

 

 

There was a drizzle so light it was almost more like a heavy mist falling from the sky on the day Shion turned eighteen, and his mother had bemoaned the fact that it always seemed to rain on his birthday anymore. As soon as she went to bed his window was open again, though this time he hadn’t thrown it open with the same certainty or surge of emotions as before, instead pushing the glass panes aside noncommittally. Time had a way of continuing forward, at once too slowly and too quickly, dulling the pain and blurring the details as it flowed on. He stood before the open window, staring out at the horizon until the early hours of the morning, wishing it would rain harder.

 

* * *

 

A few days before he turned nineteen, Shion began renting his own apartment closer to the centre of the city. He had told everyone it was because he wanted his commute to his office with the Restructural Committee to be more convenient, but that was only half true.

Tsukiyo had passed away six months ago. The poor mouse had not gone easily either, hardly able to move or eat within the weeks leading up to his death. It had hit Shion much harder than he let on. Tsukiyo was not only a dear friend to Shion, but he also felt like the last thread connecting Shion to Nezumi, a thread that had been cruelly severed. That house was now nothing but a palpable feeling of emptiness where Tsukiyo had once lived, where Neuzmi had once slept and showered and eaten breakfast.

Shion couldn’t breathe at the bakery any more.

On the morning of his nineteenth birthday, before the usual party at his mother’s, Inukashi and Rikiga helped him move the last of his belongings into his new place. Shion knew he needed to be attentive, to show Rikiga the best place to park his car, to help carry boxes, to tell the others where he wanted things, but all he could think about was the weather report.

September seventh. Clear. Chance of rain: 0%.

Shion was so preoccupied that he kept slowing to a stop without even realizing as he carried boxes from Rikiga’s car to the apartment building, turning his face blankly towards the cloudless sky, lost somewhere in his own mind.

Inukashi knocked lightly on the side of Shion’s skull as if knocking on a door, narrowing his eyes as he said, “If Shion’s at home, tell him he owes me a fortune for making me carry all of his heavy crap _all by my lonesome_ while he spaced out all morning.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m carrying things too!” Rikiga shot back defensively, missing the point.

Shion fumbled out an embarrassed apology as he hurried inside with the boxes he was carrying, heavy with books salvaged from that underground room.

He was no less preoccupied at the party.

The older Shion became, the more inevitable it was that some well-meaning acquaintance would bring up the prospect of Shion “meeting a nice girl”, and the conversation would spin out of control as other well-meaning acquaintances would offer glowing praise of their daughter or sister or the girl who worked at the shop down the street, “she’s really smart” and “you would like her” and “why don’t I give you her number?”.

It was awkward, and he never knew how to reply. Feigning interest wouldn’t stop the conversation, but he also didn’t want to tell them the truth that he was uninterested and risk offending anyone. So instead he just sat there, face red and eyes downcast, trying to make his body dissolve into the air through sheer force of will. Karan, sensing her son’s discomfort, intervened to change the subject.

Sometimes he wanted to tell them that he already had someone. Sometimes he wanted to tell them that he’d never even considered anyone else.

When he arrived back at his new apartment that evening he did nothing but watch the stars travel across the sky from his wide open bedroom window until the light of dawn spread over the horizon, knowing that if he tried to sleep the loneliness would come pouring out of his body and swallow him whole.

 

* * *

 

In the beginning, Shion had thought about Nezumi’s return constantly. Every unexpected sound and every stranger with dark hair or the right stature made his heart jump with hope. But he was always disappointed, and as the days and months and years passed he began expecting less and less, hoping less and less.

He tried to let it go, at least a little bit, and most of the time he didn’t think about Nezumi very much anymore. But at the end of the day, when he was alone and free from distractions, the dull ache of loss always seemed to be waiting for him.

It was the only thing on his mind as he returned home on his twentieth birthday, balancing a box full of gifts on his hip as he unlocked the door to his apartment.

He set the box down on the coffee table. Despite his low mood, his lips managed to twitch into a half-smile at the crayon drawing given to him by little Shionn that was tucked in among the other gifts. Carefully Shion extracted it and took it into the kitchen, hanging it on the fridge before taking a step back to admire it. “Happy birthday!” was written across the top in what he recognized as Inukashi’s handwriting, and below that stood colourful, oddly proportioned renditions of Shion himself standing with some of the most important people in his life: Karan, Inukashi, Rikiga, Lili, and little Shionn, all with wide pink smiles spread across their faces.

 _But someone is missing_.

Shion sighed and headed into his bedroom where he immediately opened the large picture window without even thinking. At this point it had become like a yearly ritual to him, though it was starting to feel ridiculous.

 _“Reunion will come”_.

Why was he still clinging to a promise made on a whim by an angry sixteen-year-old who didn’t know what he wanted? Nezumi had always kept his word before, but that didn’t assure that he would keep his word this time. Perhaps he had just said it to convince Shion to stay and accept his responsibilities.

Perhaps it had never meant anything in the first place.

The stars glittered in the clear sky above, and Shion caught himself wishing for a storm. But not a storm like on his twelfth birthday. Not this time. He wanted a storm with rains so heavy that the waters would rise in a tidal wave and flood into his room, where he would be pulled under and drown before those piercing grey eyes could haunt his thoughts any more, before he could confirm his suspicions that the owner of those eyes was never really going to come back to him.

With a shake of his head he tried to dispel the morbid fantasy. He plopped down in the chair beside the window, folding his arms on the windowsill and resting his head atop them. Sleep hadn’t been coming easily to him lately, and he could feel his restless nights catching up with him, making his body feel heavy. He was tired, so tired…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is potentially going to be huge. I have nearly 10k words written already and I'm nowhere near a resolution.
> 
> The title comes from [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dh8YWNMlGa8). The lyrics are about wanting to forget and move on but not being able to because you're still in love. It seemed really fitting to me and I've had it on repeat while writing this.
> 
> I'm not totally sure when I'll be posting the next chapter, but it won't be too long from now! It will focus more on Nezumi.


	2. Chapter 2

It was already dark when Nezumi stepped onto the main drag of the West Block. Only four years had passed, but everything had changed. The squalor and danger and death from before all seemed to be missing, and while he wouldn’t go so far as to say it had become a _nice_ neighbourhood, it certainly looked more respectable now.

Something shifted in the shadows of the building next to him. A large, shaggy dog walked into the light of the streetlamp and approached him cautiously.

At least some things never change.

“Go tell your master I need to ask him a question,” he called to the dog, slipping his hands into his pockets and leaning casually against the wall behind him. The dog stalked off down a side street. Nezumi waited.

The streets weren't completely deserted, but it was quiet. To someone who didn't know, it would be impossible now to tell that a large portion of the West Block had been razed in the Hunt four years ago. Where there had been dilapidated, makeshift shop stalls before the Hunt there were now new, sturdy buildings lining the paved street. From where he stood he could see several shops on the opposite side, and while most of them looked like they sold cheap items or secondhand goods, they all appeared to be legitimate businesses, though all were now closed for the night. A diner across from him was still open, and each time a customer entered or left the sounds of casual conversation and the smell of greasy, but not rotten, food floated out from the door. The atmosphere was peaceful—something Nezumi never would have expected.

_You had a lot to do with this, didn't you, Shion?_

He closed his eyes and tilted his face upwards. A familiar presence approached from the direction the dog had headed.

“I thought I smelled a rat,” Inukashi spat, crinkling his nose. He drew up beside Nezumi, looking him over with narrowed eyes. “What do you want?”

“As tactless as ever, I see,” Nezumi purred. “I need you to tell me where Shion is living now.”

“And why would I tell you that?”

Nezumi shot him an icy glare. “I’m fulfilling a promise.”

“A promise, huh?” Inukashi sounded unconvinced, but he continued, “He doesn’t live at his momma’s anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I assume you can give me his new address.” Nezumi pulled a pen and a pad of paper from the bag draped over his shoulder and waved them languidly in front of Inukashi's face. The younger boy eyed them skeptically for a few moments before snatching them out of Nezumi’s hand.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” Inukashi hissed with teeth bared as he scrawled a few lines on an empty page. “It's unhealthy, really, the way that boy is so obsessed with you. He never says anything about it, but he's been waiting for you this whole time. I can tell. And you don't even deserve it! I honestly hope he decks you. Knocks some of the teeth out of your shitty mouth. I'd do it myself, but unlike _some people_ , I respect Shion.”

“Are you quite finished?” Nezumi asked blankly.

“Yeah,” Inukashi said with a smirk, capping the pen. “That’ll be one gold coin.”

Nezumi groaned exasperatedly and grabbed the notepad from Inukashi’s hands.

“I know a real nice dentist if you end up needing one,” Inukashi called mockingly after Nezumi as he turned and walked away.

“I wonder that you will still be talking, dear Inukashi. Nobody marks you,” Nezumi sing-songed back without turning around, his voice carried along on the breeze.

-

The apartment building was modest, not too large but not too small, and constructed in a simple design. Nezumi approached the front, eyeing the row of buzzers, each with a placard denoting which apartment it belonged to. He glanced again at the notepad and back at the placards, locating Shion's apartment number. His fingers hovered over the button as he entertained the notion of pressing it, but the awkwardness of ringing a doorbell in the middle of the night and having to announce himself was unappealing, and he pulled his hand back.

Judging by the apartment number, Shion lived on the first floor. Easy enough. His eyes scanned over the building, looking for something that might help him figure out a better way into Shion's apartment. Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, it wasn’t hard to find.

One of the large picture windows on the first floor was flung wide open, and Nezumi could see a mass of white hair on the windowsill, ruffled by the light breeze. He clicked his tongue and headed in that direction, rolling his eyes as he came close enough to see that it was exactly what it looked like: Shion was asleep in a chair at the window, head resting face down on folded arms. Unguarded, wide open for the whole world.

_He hasn’t changed a bit_. Nezumi resisted the smile threatening to emerge on his face as he leaned towards the sleeping boy. “Have you learned nothing since you were twelve years old?”

“Mmm,” came Shion’s barely audible reply. His sleep remained undisturbed.

Nezumi rolled his eyes again before shoving a hand into that soft white hair and grabbing and handful, shaking the other boy’s head back and forth. “Wake up, idiot,” he demanded. “You’re ruining my dramatic entrance.”

With considerable effort Shion opened his eyes halfway and looked up. “Nezumi...?”

Nezumi bowed low. “At your service, my liege.”

Shion smiled and made a sound somewhere between a giggle and an exhale of breath, eyelids slipping closed again as if they were much too heavy to stay open.

_He must be completely exhausted_.

Nezumi slipped the bag from his shoulder and lowered it to the floor inside the window, and then, with both hands on the windowsill, pulled himself up and into the room. All his years spent in the West Block had made his vision well suited for dim light, so he could tell immediately that this must be Shion’s bedroom. Just a few feet away from the window was a double bed covered by a quilt. Beside the bed stood a nightstand stacked with books, some of which looked very familiar. There was a sinking feeling in his chest. He turned back to Shion.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

He looked the other boy up and down to gauge how easy it would be to lift him. Shion seemed to have gained just a little bit of weight since they were sixteen, and it suited his frame. Nezumi crouched and ducked under Shion's arms, positioning himself with his back against Shion’s chest. He hooked his arms into the crooks of Shion’s knees and carefully stood, the boy's limp body draped over his back.

“At least I know you’ve been eating well.”

Shion’s head lolled forward, his face pressed against the side of the other boy’s neck. “Mom’s a…baker…” he explained, sleep evident in his muffled voice, breath warm against Nezumi’s skin.

Nezumi pushed the quilt aside and laid Shion into bed as gently as he could, considering the awkward way he was carrying him. Shion was obviously just barely conscious, his eyelids fluttering weakly in a losing struggle to keep his eyes open, but still the sleepy grin that pulled at his lips wasn’t fading in the least. Rikiga had called him an angel before—and Nezumi felt ridiculous for even thinking about it—but with that gentle smile on his face, and the way the dim light that streamed in through the window made his translucent white hair splayed out on the pillow positively glow, he really did look angelic.

Before he fully realized what he was doing, Nezumi found himself pressing his lips softly to the other boy’s forehead.

As he drew back, Shion murmured quietly, “Sleep here… with me… like before.”

Nezumi sighed, brushing his fingers against the other’s cheek. “Shion, I’m not— ” _staying_. The word caught in his throat.

Was he being unfair? It was possible Shion wouldn’t even remember this when he awoke, but perhaps it would be better that way.

“—I’m not tired yet,” Nezumi finished, the words tumbling thoughtlessly out of his mouth.

_What am I saying?_ He wanted to grab the words back out of the air.

“Mhmm,” Shion replied, leaning his face into the touch of Nezumi’s fingers. His expression radiated a childish contentment. Nezumi stroked the boy's cheek softly, trying to ignore the way his throat was constricting.

Shion's breathing gradually became shallow and even as he drifted fully into sleep. Nezumi lingered at his side for a few moments before withdrawing his hand and dropping into the chair beside the window. He stared out across the skyline of what used to be No. 6, the city he had hated so much, the city that took everything away from him before his very eyes.

His resentment and anger had been his driving force all those years of his life. It had kept him surviving. His purpose had been to destroy No. 6, to get revenge on the enemy that had wronged him so, but now that was done. There was nothing for him here. Not anymore.

A hazy image of a naïve boy with white hair and eyes brimming with desperation flashed in his mind.

“ _The world means nothing to me without you.”_

Shion had been crying then, and Nezumi couldn't bear it. And so he'd made a promise—a promise that he'd regretted every moment since. But he'd only said that he would be back. He hadn't promised anything else.

He had been planning it out for years. He would return, and there would be no place for him. Shion would have built his own life. Maybe he would be married, with a family of his own, with no need for someone that he had loved once but not any longer. Nezumi would drop in, say hello, and leave. It would be something final, something that he couldn't change, something he would have to accept and move on. And it would all get easier from there. He could finally leave Shion in the past.

But he was here now, and nothing was going according to his plan. Shion had waited for him. Shion wasn't supposed to have waited for him.

Nezumi had felt far more than his fair share of pain in his life, but seeing the way Shion still clung to him even after so many years hurt like nothing else he'd ever known. Unwelcome thoughts were bubbling up rapidly in his mind, conflicting and confusing.

_Stay with him._

_He's dangerous._

_There's nothing for you here._

_You can't stay with him._

_Never get attached. Live only for yourself._

_But I lo—_

He let his face fall forward into his hands so hard that he saw white lights flash behind his eyelids on impact.

“What do I even want anymore?” he whispered to no one, closing his eyes and lowering his forehead onto the cool surface of the windowsill. He allowed himself to relax, soothed by the light evening breeze.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading so far!
> 
> Nezumi quotes Shakespeare's _Much Ado About Nothing_ at the end of his conversation with Inukashi. The original line is:  
>  "I wonder that you will still be talking, Signor Benedick.  
> Nobody marks you."  
> I replaced "Signor Benedick" with "dear Inukashi" to preserve the amount of syllables, because I can't imagine Nezumi allowing himself to mess up the iambic pentameter if he could help it.
> 
> The next chapter will probably be up next week. I hope you look forward to it!


	3. Chapter 3

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and Nezumi was immediately ripped away from sleep, body tense. Someone was behind him. Cautiously, he lifted his head and turned around.

He cursed inwardly. He was still in Shion’s room, and had apparently fallen asleep at the windowsill the same way he had found that airheaded idiot the previous night. Shion was sitting frozen at the edge of the bed, staring at him with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open in an expression of utter disbelief.

Nezumi smirked with one side of his mouth, though his heart wasn’t in it. How could he have allowed himself to do something so unbearably _stupid_?  “Good morning,” he offered.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause during which Shion's mouth opened and closed hesitantly several times like a fish trying to breathe out of water. The air felt heavy.

“I…” Shion seemed to choke on his words. He shut his eyes and mouth tightly and shook his head a few times. Inhaling carefully, he opened his eyes again. “Have you really been here since last night? I thought that was a dream…” He trailed off, uncertain, and rose to his feet.

“I’m surprised you remember that much,” Nezumi stated honestly. “You were definitely not all there.” He smirked again. “I thought perhaps Your Highness had pricked his delicate finger on an enchanted spindle and would be cursed to sleep for a hundred years.”

If Shion had understood Nezumi’s reference he had chosen not to acknowledge it. He cast his eyes downward, tensing up as if bracing for an impact, and drew a shaky breath.

_Fuck_. Nezumi stood and closed the distance between them, placing his hands gently on the other boy’s shoulders. Through this contact he noticed that Shion’s body was shaking ever so slightly. _Fuck_.

“Shion…”

“’Reunion will come’. You said that. And I waited. And I know you’ve always kept your promises, but—” He cut his words short, and looked up to meet Nezumi’s gaze. The tremor in his body had stopped, and his expression had become clouded and unreadable. “Are you—”

_Staying?_

Nezumi could tell exactly what he was thinking, but again Shion stopped himself before he said what he really wanted to say.

“...Are you hungry? Let’s have some breakfast. Follow me.” A smile spread across Shion's face as he turned around to head out the bedroom door, and though Nezumi had only seen it briefly he could tell there was something unnatural about it. The smile hadn’t quite reached Shion’s eyes.

Nezumi felt some indescribable feeling weighing heavily on him as he followed the other boy down the hall. This Shion was different from the Shion he knew before, who was open and genuine to a fault.

A wall had been raised suddenly between them.

The thought felt like a blow to the chest, though he didn't understand why. Didn't he want Shion to be distant? Wouldn't that make things easier?

Nezumi shook his head as if trying to physically dislodge the questions bombarding him. It didn’t really matter. _I’m not staying._

He sat at the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room as Shion rummaged through cabinets. Before long a muffin was set before him.

“They’re from yesterday, but of course they’re still good. They’re from my mom’s. I’ll make coffee too.”

“Thank you.” He started to pick the muffin up but set it back down, hand hovering awkwardly beside it. “You know, I expected this reunion to be a little more dramatic.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them, hanging clumsily in the air. Why did he say that? Was it a suggestion? _Fawn over me, Shion_. Was that what he wanted? He furrowed his brow, narrowing his eyes at the muffin as if it was supposed to answer his questions. Maybe he hadn’t known quite what to expect, but this certainly wasn’t it.

When he looked up again, he finally noticed that Shion had sat down beside him. Shion was still the only person he’d ever met capable of sneaking up on him, and even now he found it terrifying.

“Nezumi,” Shion cooed with affection, though it sounded a little forced. Their eyes met, and Shion’s gaze contained the same admiration it always had, but there was something else there too, something Nezumi couldn’t recognize. “It’s been a long time. I’ve missed you.”

Shion smiled warmly, though it seemed forced too. He stood and circled back around the counter. A crayon drawing hanging on the fridge caught Nezumi’s attention. The reality that Shion’s life would keep moving on whether he was there or not finally sunk in as he read the top of the page – “Happy birthday!”—and thought about how much he was not a part of that life any longer. It was by his own doing but it still stung a little bit, as unreasonable as it was. He cast his eyes down again.

A cup of coffee was set before him alongside the muffin that still hadn’t offered him any answers. He picked it up and took a bite, and it was delicious, but that didn’t help him sort anything out.

_What am I doing here?_

Shion took the seat beside him again, but it still felt like he was a million miles away. “I can call off work today and show you around the city if you’d like. I don’t know how much you’ve seen for yourself already, but a lot has changed.”

_A lot has changed_. The phrase made the weight on his chest feel even heavier, somehow. He pushed it into the corner of his mind the best he could, and managed a haughty grin. “If Your Majesty would be so gracious, this lowly subject would be much obliged,” he lilted, bowing low from his seat.

Shion laughed lightheartedly, and this time his expression seemed more genuine. Nezumi wondered if it was a sign that the other’s guard was starting to slip.

The midmorning sun was illuminating Shion’s hair from behind like a halo, touching the edges of his face lightly and making his skin glow, and _god_ Shion was beautiful, and before Nezumi realized that he had even moved his hand was cupping Shion’s face gently, thumb tracing the end of that spiraling red scar. He decided to try something.

Shion was looking into his eyes like he always did, with that unwavering gaze that Nezumi always found both alluring and unnerving, full of contradictions just like everything else about Shion. Slowly, Nezumi leaned closer, brushing his hand back through that soft white hair to rest at the nape of his neck, and pressed a soft kiss to Shion’s lips.

He tensed up at Nezumi’s touch, but after a moment his body relaxed. _There._ Nezumi inhaled sharply and leaned into the kiss, keeping it slow and gentle but pouring into it all the love he never wanted to admit he felt, trying to convince himself that it didn’t feel _good_ when Shion began to kiss him back.

Finally he drew away, breathless. There was now a kind of clarity to Shion’s eyes that hadn’t been there earlier, and Nezumi knew that he had broken down his defenses. He had won.

Maybe it was cruel. Nezumi wasn’t staying after all, so maybe it was unfair of him to want Shion to open up to him like this. But if he was going to see Shion just once more he wanted to see the real Shion, the Shion he remembered. Once he had that, he felt certain he would finally be able to move on, and leave this boy in the past for good.

_I’m just checking in on him._

_I’m just fulfilling a promise._

Shion remained silent, but his expression had become incredibly easy to read. He could tell Shion was thinking, processing information, and Nezumi was content to wait and let him do it. They stayed like that for a moment, silently observing each other, before a firm resolve crossed Shion’s face and he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the other boy’s neck, and kissed him with unabashed desire.

Nezumi gasped, shivers of electricity running up and down his spine, and there was something hot and wet on his cheeks but he wasn’t sure if they were Shion’s tears or his own. His arms circled Shion’s waist tightly. The kiss deepened and his breathing became increasingly erratic, his heartbeat increasingly rapid. If anyone in the world could crawl under his skin and destroy him from the inside out, it was this boy.

It was something he had always known, and it was more frightening than anything else he could imagine.

_I’m only fulfilling a promise._

_I’m not staying here._

_I can’t stay here_.

Their pace slowed, and Nezumi felt Shion begin to smile against his lips. He pulled back just a few centimeters, examining Shion questioningly. Shion's lower lip quivered just a little, eyes wet with tears, cheeks flushed. He perhaps even looked a little embarrassed, and he quickly took the break in contact as an opportunity to hide his face in the spot where Nezumi's neck met his shoulder.

“I'm so happy,” he breathed into Nezumi's skin, so quietly that Nezumi was unsure if he had really said it or not.

_I'm sorry, Shion._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the thought that Nezumi only makes mistakes when Shion is involved.
> 
> I'm leaving for Japan tomorrow (!!!) so the next update will be a little delayed. Hopefully it won't be any longer than 2-3 weeks.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying it so far~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: this chapter contains some mention of (underage) prostitution. It’s nothing graphic, but if it’s something that makes you uncomfortable I don’t want you to feel blindsided by it.
> 
> Aahh, this chapter is a bit later than I wanted it to be. Sorry for making you wait!
> 
> Also, please excuse the typos in the previous chapter! I’ve corrected every mistake I noticed. That’s what I get for posting without editing carefully.

The weather was lovely, perfect for a walk around town, which seemed to be increasing Shion’s enthusiasm exponentially with every passing minute. They were outside the new city hall now. The Moondrop was gone— “It was a symbol to everyone of what No. 6 used to be and, you know, I always thought it looked like a blister anyway,” Shion babbled away— and it had been replaced with a new building constructed in a tasteful Renaissance Revival style.

“I suggested that the building look like this,” Shion explained. “I got the idea from reading books about the Italian Renaissance. It was a really important time for art and philosophy following a period of instability and conflict, and… I guess you could say that’s my ambition for the new No. 6.”

Nezumi’s gaze passed over the building and returned to Shion, giving him an approving nod. Shion answered the gesture with a beaming grin, like Nezumi’s approval was the best compliment he could possibly receive. Nezumi tried as hard as he could to convince himself that it wasn’t charming.

The sun was bright and high in the sky, and under this light he could see a nearly invisible dusting of freckles under the vague blush tinting Shion’s cheeks. They had probably been more prominent a few months ago, during the summer, and were now fading with the onset of autumn.

Nezumi wondered what Shion would look like if he spent the whole summer outside until he developed obvious freckles all over his skin. Suddenly he felt an urge to steal Shion away and take him to see the ocean, somewhere where the warm sands would be almost as pure white as Shion's hair, to watch the way the harsh sun would gradually place little darkening flecks of brown onto his shoulders as the days passed. The image made Nezumi's heart jump a little. He hated himself for even thinking about it.

“Oh!” Shion exclaimed suddenly, startling Nezumi out of his daze. _How does he always catch me off guard like that_? “We should visit my mom!”

Nezumi’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Shion…”

But Shion was on a roll, and an object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by a strong enough outside force.

“Inukashi! We should visit Inukashi too! He actually has a really nice hotel now, and you could finally officially meet little Shionn…”

“Shion.”

“Yeah! Shionn! Inukashi named him after me, remember? Oh, and Rikiga!”

“ _Shion_.” The other boy’s mouth shut, face turning so red that there couldn’t possibly be any blood left in the rest of his body. “We can visit all those people another day.”

_What the hell am I saying?_ Shion looked at him quizzically.

He quickly thought of a save. “Today I would really prefer to spend time just with you.”

A vague smile pulled at the corners of Shion’s lips, slowly spreading across his face into that same beaming grin from before. “I would like that.”

Nezumi felt like he had been stabbed in the chest.

 

-

 

The air in the restaurant glowed and sparkled with the light from candles on rosewood tables and elaborate cut glass chandeliers hanging from painted ceilings over an opulent carpet. They were both horribly underdressed.

Shion had requested that they go to a fancy restaurant together for dinner, and though Nezumi had protested, asking Shion what kind of dime store romance novels he’d been reading, here they were. It was strange; Shion had always had simple desires, never the type to indulge in this kind of extravagance. But when Nezumi brought it up Shion had only blushed and looked away, mumbling something about a “special occasion”. He looked awfully out of place in the setting, shifting uncomfortably on the cushion of the Rococo-style chair and tugging at the sleeves of his cardigan as if he thought perhaps he wasn't worth enough to be there.

A few moments ago, Shion had asked a question Nezumi didn't really want to answer, and was now squirming in his seat even more at the lack of a reply. Nezumi glanced up from the small portion of fancy food he was eating off of expensive porcelain dishes, over the centerpiece dripping with roses. Shion watched him expectantly, a gentle smile on his lips.

Nezumi repeated Shion's question slowly, “What have _I_ been doing?” He wiped his mouth to buy some time. “For a living?”

Shion nodded. “I know you said that you’re a drifter, but there must have been places where you stayed, right? Are you still acting?”

Nezumi hesitated. “Well… yes, a little.” Shion seemed to interpret his reaction as humility, and looked upon Nezumi with something that was a mixture of relief and pride before returning to his food. Nezumi exhaled slowly, thankful that Shion wasn't going to press it.

There were a lot of things about his life and his past that Nezumi didn't want to tell Shion. Before it would have been out of a desire to force Shion to think and figure things out on his own, but now it was something a little different. Now, he simply didn't want Shion to know.

He didn't want Shion to know that he had put stage acting aside as soon as he left No. 6. Shion would be unhappy that he wasn't doing the kind of work that he was best at, that he loved, that made him thrive.

He didn't want Shion to know that, instead of using his persona as Eve for the stage, he had been using it to get jobs in the seedy taverns and red light districts he happened upon in his travels. Shion would think it degrading, but Nezumi had always considered things like seduction and sex to be the means to an end, tools he could use to gain money or to manipulate, mechanisms for survival in an unforgiving world.

Besides, there was never such a thing as purity. Everything was tainted as soon as it was born, and even naive, idealistic Shion should have learned that himself by now. He wasn't _proud_ of it, but he wasn't necessarily ashamed of it either.

And yet...

When he was with Shion, he felt somehow unclean. And so, he didn't want Shion to know.

As the last of his race, the last of the Forest People, he had looks that would be considered exotic anywhere he went, from the backwards little villages beginning to spring up here and there in the wastelands to the cosmopolitan numbered cities. And because of his acting abilities, he could become whoever his clients wanted him to be. He was young and beautiful and abundantly skilled, and so he could always fetch the highest of prices. And that meant that for the most part, like it or not, the only people who could afford an evening with him were well-established older men.

That's just how it was, but he didn't want Shion to know.

But most of all, he didn’t want Shion to know that, when he found himself with an older male client whose hair was beginning to lose its colour, he had to fight back against nausea in the pit of his stomach as he squeezed his eyes shut and did anything he could to avoid thinking about white hair, translucent, shiny, white hair, that belonged to someone far away, someone who was supposed to stay in the past.

 

-

 

Nezumi had lost track of how much he had been drinking, but a pleasant warmth was beginning to spread throughout his body, and he felt just slightly lightheaded. Shion, on the other hand, had obviously not gotten any better at handling alcohol since that day so many years ago in the West Block when Rikiga had given them wine. He was undeniably drunk.

Buying a bottle of wine to bring home had been Shion's idea, and Nezumi has obliged him, welcoming the thought of having a little alcohol in his system. Perhaps it would make all of this a little easier. Perhaps it would let him separate what he wanted to do from what he needed to do.

Shion started giggling out of nowhere, snapping Nezumi out of his thoughts.

“What on earth are you laughing about, you idiot?”

“Remember when I drank for the first time?” Shion forced out between giggles.

“Unfortunately.” Nezumi clicked his tongue. “You’re not going to do terrible impersonations of me this time, are you?”

“ _You’re not going to do terrible impersonations of me this time, are you_?” Shion snorted and Nezumi glared at him. “Sorry, I’ll stop,” he said jovially. He was probably lying.

With that, Shion sat up on the couch and scooted as close as he could get, leaning his head on Nezumi's shoulder and clutching Nezumi's upper arm to his chest with a contented sigh. Shion's face was flushed and Nezumi could feel the boy's too-warm temperature through the fabric of his shirt.

“Hey, Shion...”

The other boy's reply was a little delayed. “Hmm?”

Nezumi forgot what he wanted to say as Shion shifted sleepily and nuzzled his face into Nezumi's neck, breath hot against his collarbone. He shivered. Shion didn't seem to notice the reaction, or even remember that Nezumi had started to say something before.

Nezumi caught himself absent-mindedly tracing circles onto Shion’s thigh, and he told himself to stop but the signal was getting lost somewhere in the wine-soaked haze between his brain and his hand. Shion let a soft, pleased sound escape his throat and began to languidly press wet, clumsy kisses to Nezumi's neck.

_This is too much_.

Shion stopped suddenly and yawned, sliding heavily down against Nezumi’s side until he was curled up on the couch with his head resting in Nezumi’s lap. “Four years… is a long time,” he slurred drowsily. “I waited for you, you know… all that time…”

All at once Nezumi felt sober again. He didn’t answer, instead running his fingers softly through the other boy’s white hair.

“I was starting to think… I’d never see you again…”

Shion might as well have slit his throat with a dull knife. Breathing was suddenly very difficult and with every heartbeat he felt a sharp pain, but Nezumi kept gently stroking Shion’s hair as the boy’s eyes slid shut and his breathing gradually became shallow and even.

A few moments passed silently. Tears were pricking like needles at the backs of Nezumi's eyes as he carefully slipped a pillow under Shion’s head and stood.

“Shion,” he whispered, and the words sounded like they were coming from somewhere else, “I’m sorry.”

With that he turned down the hall to the bedroom, shouldered his bag, and slipped out the same window where Shion had been waiting for him before.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered into the night sky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this chapter was really self-indulgent. /sweats nervously
> 
> Have you read the novel's “Beyond" chapters? If not, you should do yourself a favour and read them, especially the one where Shion gets drunk (which I referenced here). [Here’s a link!](http://9th-ave.blogspot.com/p/no-6.html#pv11)
> 
> I think art history is really interesting and I think Shion would agree with me, especially after living in No. 6 where the arts were discouraged. It would be a whole new perspective on the world to him.
> 
> Also, for whatever reason Nezumi having been a prostitute is a really important headcanon to me. I have a lot more to say than I could manage to jam into this fic. Talk to me about it if you have opinions! (Or if you’re curious and want to hear me ramble even more than I already have).
> 
> Anyway, I should have the next chapter up within a week. It might be relatively short but I hope you’re looking forward to it!


	5. Chapter 5

_Cold_.

Shion shifted, curling in on himself against the frigid air. He wasn’t ready to get out of bed yet. The ghost of a headache was beginning to form between his eyebrows, and he just wanted to sleep until it went away.

But it was too cold. His hand reached out in search of the covers as he rolled over, but instead of finding the mattress and blankets beneath him he found open air. He hit the floor with a dull thud, groaning in protest.

He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, realizing quickly that he was in the living room.

_Why was I sleeping on the couch_?

A wine bottle was laying sideways on the coffee table, alongside two empty glasses. A distinctive shade of grey flashed in his mind.

_Nezumi_.

But where was he now? Perhaps he was taking a shower, or reading in the other room, not wanting to disturb Shion’s rest. Shion smiled to himself despite the fact that his head was starting to pound, thinking about the teasing he would be subject to in regards to the fact that this was his second instance of getting drunk and falling off of a couch.

 

* * *

 

It was Shion’s twenty-first birthday, but it felt more like the first anniversary of the day Nezumi returned only to leave again without a word.

He was fairly certain that nobody he knew had seen Nezumi in No. 6 the year before, but despite the fact that Shion had kept it all to himself, he could tell that most of the people around him knew something had happened. Nobody said anything, but everybody knew.

Inukashi knew, as if completely by instinct, as if he could smell it in the air around Shion. He kept up his usual abrasive manner and unrelenting teasing, but Shion could tell he was holding back, trying to be gentle as if Shion was suddenly incredibly fragile.

Of course his mother knew as well— she always knew. She really was startlingly perceptive. Rikiga knew too, perhaps not able to catch on to the specifics as well as the other two, but his instincts as a journalist were still there no matter how much Inukashi insisted alcohol had dulled them.

In fact, Inukashi wasn’t alone in his suddenly careful treatment of Shion. It seemed as if everyone he interacted with, even his coworkers, even children, even Inukashi’s dogs, had started softening their actions around him. It felt like someone had stamped a warning on his forehead—“handle with care”—and Shion would bow his head and let the hair that he kept neglecting to cut tumble over his face, hoping that would somehow put a stop to it.

_Throw it away._

It was the first time he ever thought he might want to throw away any of his attachments, if only to make things easier, but with how everyone was behaving so carefully around him, his daily life had become a constant reminder. He couldn’t forget, no matter how hard he tried.

_Throw away useless feelings like those._

This year’s birthday party at his mother’s house was unusually crowded, perhaps in a good-natured attempt to keep him from feeling lonely. Shion wondered if it was only intensifying his loneliness, but he put on a contented façade, making sure to smile or laugh at all the right times.

“Um, I’m sorry to bring up work at your birthday party like this…” Shion’s secretary appeared in front of him, clutching a folder with both of her well-manicured hands and smiling apologetically.

“It’s ok,” he replied, forcing himself to smile reassuringly back. His face felt sore.

“Well, that information you requested from No. 3’s cultural association arrived today, and you said you’d like me to give it to you as soon as possible…” She offered the folder.

“Oh, good. Thank you,” Shion said absently, taking it in his hands without really looking at it.

“It includes some information about a festival being held in No. 3 celebrating world theatrical traditions from the pre-war period.” Shion almost visibly winced at her words, his grip on the folder becoming unnecessarily tight. His secretary shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what she had done wrong, and added gently, “I thought I’d mention it since you seem to have such a strong interest in theatre.”

“Thank you.” He smiled reassuringly again, though his eyes were unfocused, staring blankly at something miles and miles away.

-

Shion had spent the remainder of the party trying as hard as he could not to think and just enjoy himself, with reasonable success. But now it was late, and unwanted thoughts had a way of creeping up on him when he was alone late at night.

As he entered his apartment, he tossed the folder his secretary had given him aside on the coffee table, averting his eyes as it landed with a thud and slid a few inches, nearly falling to the floor. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was theatre.

An image of Nezumi performing onstage floated into his mind before he could stop it. Nezumi’s beauty was positively unearthly, deep black hair flowing long down the delicate curve of his shoulders, hands moving in graceful flourishes that were never excessive, voice wonderfully androgynous with tones clearer than music made with crystal glass. Shion felt ill.

The now familiar tug-of-war between anger and longing flared up inside him as he entered his room and laid eyes on his window. Even now, he wanted to throw it open in invitation.

_Throw it away_.

But what would opening the window accomplish? Nezumi had come back, and he had left. And Shion was hurt, but what was the point? He should have expected it. Nezumi had never said anything about coming back to stay, and maybe it was naïve of him to believe so firmly that Nezumi would.

He felt the anger and disappointment and sadness that had been building up under the surface over the past year swirling together in his chest, compressing into violent impulses that needed an outlet or he would go crazy. He wanted to smash that goddamn window, and with it smash his own memories and everything that window symbolized in his mind.

Before he realized what he was doing he had closed the distance to the window, moved by the force of his emotions, the same kind of force that had clouded his mind when he killed that man in the Correctional Facility. It was terrifying. He clenched his fists so hard his arms were shaking and bit down hard on his lip to try to regain control over himself, managing just enough to aim his punch at the wall instead of at the glass.

He didn't hit with much force, but he had been pushing his fingers so hard into his palms that his nails drew blood on impact. He slumped down, one shoulder against the wall, his energy drained out of him along with the little red droplets squeezing their way out of his palms from crescent-shaped marks.

His slightly-too-long hair fell forward into his face. He felt like an idiot.

Why did Nezumi leave again? Had he done something wrong? Had he changed too much?

Was he no good now?

_Throw it away_.

Shion squeezed his eyes shut hard to discourage the tears that threatened to fall and pulled himself back to his feet, leaving a little red smear on the wall where he pressed his hand to stabilize himself as he stood.

It didn't matter anymore. No matter how much he had once loved Nezumi, no matter how much he _still_ loved Nezumi, he had to look out for himself. There comes a point where you have to acknowledge the reality of a situation and move on. There comes a point where you have to make a choice to fight back and preserve yourself or to simply let the current tear you apart against the rocks.

_Throw it away._

He took a deep breath to resolve himself, stepped forward, and locked the window.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously Inukashi _does_ know, but Shion doesn't know that he knows! (dramatic music) Not that that detail actually matters.
> 
> I hope you're still enjoying this fic!
> 
> Honestly I really like the next chapter a lot and I'm really excited to post it! I'll try to restrain myself and make sure I revise it and everything before I post, but you can probably expect to see it posted before a week from now.
> 
> I'll just say this: there is something very interesting in that folder.


	6. Chapter 6

The bare light bulbs reflecting off of the mirror made the stark white makeup covering Nezumi’s face and neck seem almost blinding, like light reflecting off the snow on a sunny winter day. Carefully he lifted the brush to his face, applying a bright vermillion first to the outer corners of his eyes and then painting it over his lips, small and dainty. An elaborately styled and ornamented black wig was slipped onto his head and secured in place by a stagehand, who whispered breathily into his ear, as if it was a secret between the two of them, “You look stunning, Eve.”

Nezumi didn’t respond. He had learned early on in his time working here that it was best not to. He only stared at his reflection, face neutral, eyelids fluttering slightly over his eyes.

He looked positively unreal.

The stagehand shifted awkwardly at the lack of reaction to his attempted seduction, stammering out, “W-well, break a leg out there tonight,” as he slinked away in defeat.

Nezumi was sitting backstage in the most prestigious theatre in No. 3, preparing to make his debut as the star of one of tonight’s featured performances. He had auditioned on a whim, but because his name was unknown outside of that makeshift theatre in the West Block he hadn’t been expecting much, perhaps a minor role if he was lucky. The casting directors had apparently seen something something in him though, and took the gamble of giving him a somewhat major role.

He glanced up at the poster advertising the theatrical festival taped to the brick wall above his mirror, catching a glimpse of the photo of him that was included in the top left corner. It was relatively small compared to the other photos on the poster, photos of actors with well-known names, but it was striking, and drew your eyes right to it. The costume and makeup made him look ghostly pale, his body bent backwards at a sharp angle, hands reaching desperately towards the sky. The stage lighting made his contorted figure practically glow, and despite the fact that he'd seen the image countless times before, he still had a hard time believing it was really a photo of him.

Nezumi would be performing something unlike anything he had ever done before: a short solo dance selection from a Japanese kabuki piece. His was the role of a young maiden who, when separated from her lover, suffered pain and torment due to her lingering attachment to him.

He tried not to think about it too much.

Tonight was opening night—the seventh of September, Shion’s twenty-first birthday.

He tried not to think about that either.

The stage lights were so bright that it was impossible to really see the audience, but as the music began and he started the dance he could feel the eyes of the crowd locked onto him. It was a much larger group of people than he had ever performed in front of before, but instead of intimidating it felt exhilarating.

The motions of the dance were simple yet infinitely complex, becoming wild and erratic as it approached its final climactic moment. He threw his body about the stage to illustrate the way the maiden was being torn apart by having held on too long to feelings for a lover now taken away from her, calling up emotions in Nezumi’s memory that were still far too close to the surface. He collapsed to the floor, writhing in an intricately choreographed emotional agony that he had to work harder every day in rehearsal to convince himself was purely acting and nothing more. The curtains came down to thunderous applause.

His fellow actors murmured praise and congratulations to him as Nezumi navigated his way around backstage to a door that lead out into the alleyway beside the theatre. He leaned back against the cool brick wall and closed his eyes, heavy breathing beginning to relax. He tried not to think about the maiden and her pain at her lost love. He tried not to think about Shion.

After some time, he began to sense another presence with him in the alleyway.

“What man art thou thus bescreen’d in night so stumblest on my counsel?” he intoned lazily.

“U-um…”

Nezumi opened his eyes to see a teenage boy standing before him. The boy was looking down and fiddling with the hem of his jacket.

“Yes?” Nezumi purred in that alluring female voice he tended to use as emotional armour.

The boy looked up into his eyes, just a few inches shorter than Nezumi, and began, “If I’m honest, I don’t really know much about acting or dancing, but I watched you perform just now, and…”

Nezumi cocked an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I thought you were really amazing.” The boy smiled with slightly crooked teeth. “You were so graceful, and I couldn’t look away. I was really drawn to you.”

“ _I’m drawn to you.”_

_What kind of naïve idiot is this kid?_

Nezumi inhaled sharply, feeling like he’d been punched hard in the gut. Suddenly his wig and costume felt impossibly heavy. The boy looked away shyly.

“Anyway, I really hope I can see you perform again. I’m sorry for bothering you.” He gave Nezumi one last reserved smile before turning around and heading back to the main street.

As soon as the boy was out of the alley, Nezumi felt something inside himself shatter. A wave of nausea overtook him, and he crouched down, body shaking. Wet droplets splashed onto the pavement in front of him as the tears carved into the thick layers of white makeup on his face.

_The maiden, unable to sever her attachments, weeps_ , he thought bitterly.

Only this time, no curtains fell.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is later than I wanted it to be and shorter than I expected, but I hope you still enjoyed it! I actually like this one quite a bit, because I think kabuki is beautiful and I love the idea of Nezumi performing as an onnagata.
> 
> His performance is loosely based on the Heron Maiden. (If you want, you can watch the part I'm talking about being performed by a really famous kabuki actor [at this link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6O7KFCCEdU#t=188)).
> 
> The "What man art thou..." quote is from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.
> 
> The last two chapters have been kind of static, but the next should have a little more action. Hopefully. But probably just as much angst. Sorry...


End file.
